Читать книгу Worth Fighting For - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 11

As Caitlin dried the last of the morning dishes, Emily waited in the breakfast nook, feet dangling from her seat, elbows resting on the table, hands propping up her chin.

“It’s nine-oh-one,” the little girl announced.

Each day, at roughly nine o’clock, Emily and Caitlin took the neighbor’s dog for a walk. It had become a tradition they both looked forward to, a special time when she and her daughter could chat, get a little exercise and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.

And it gave Emily another chance to pretend she had a pet of her own.

“You’re sure good at telling time, Em. But just give me a minute more. I’m nearly finished.” Caitlin placed the last spoon into the drawer, then folded the damp towel and hung it on the rack to dry.

“Yea!” Emily climbed from her chair, just as the telephone rang, then paused. “Oh, no.”

“Sorry, sweetie. I’ll make this quick.” Caitlin snatched the receiver from the hook. “Hello?”

It was Phyllis McAree, her attorney. “Have you got a minute?”

Caitlin glanced at her eager daughter, then lifted her index finger, indicating the call would take a moment.

“Yes, Phyllis. Go ahead.” Caitlin gripped the receiver and held her breath, hoping the competent family law specialist had something positive to report.

“From what I can gather, Zack’s parole hearing has been set up for the end of the month. And since he hasn’t had any problems while serving his term, there’s a good chance he’ll be released. I spoke to his attorney, and there’s no way they’ll drop the custody suit. Zack wants his child.”

Caitlin’s heart dropped to her stomach. Tears stung her eyes, and a lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to speak—even if Emily hadn’t been in the room, listening intently.

She glanced at her daughter, the little girl who’d become the love of her life.

“It’s nine-oh-three,” Emily whispered.

Under other circumstances, Caitlin would have handled Emily differently. She would have told her to be patient and wait until after the phone call. But Caitlin didn’t want to worry about the words she might say, the tears she might cry.

“Just a minute,” she told Phyllis. Then she placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver. “Em, why don’t you knock on the Blackstone’s door and ask if you can bring Scruffy over here.”

“To our house?” Her daughter’s eyes brightened. “Okay!”

Allowing Scruffy to visit hadn’t been an option before, due to Caitlin’s allergies. But right now, she needed some time alone. And although she didn’t usually let Emily go outside unsupervised, the Blackstones shared a wall with Caitlin, and the door was merely steps away from her own. “Leave our front door open so I can watch you, honey.”

“Okay.” Emily grinned, then dashed outside.

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” Caitlin told her attorney, “but I didn’t want to talk in front of my daughter.”

“I can certainly understand that.” Phyllis blew out a sigh. “I won’t lie to you, Caitlin. This case isn’t going to be easy. Emotions will run high, and so will the legal fees. Apparently Zack has an uncle who’s willing to put up the money for his fight.”

Caitlin’s heart sank. She hadn’t counted on Zack having anyone’s support. She’d heard he was an orphan, and she’d hoped a lack of finances would prohibit him from hiring an attorney.

“What are the chances that Zack will win custody?” she asked the attorney. “After all, he is her biological father.”

“I wish I could tell you. Custody cases are never easy to predict, but you’re the only mother Emily has ever known, and that’s a strong point in your favor.”

But was it enough?

“Zack will probably claim to be rehabilitated,” Phyllis added. “And his attorney claims he has a job lined up at the construction company, where his uncle works.”

“He’s still a convicted felon,” Caitlin said. “Surely the courts won’t put a child in his home without being sure he’s really changed.”

“Even if he’s made a complete turnaround and plans to be a law-abiding citizen and a good father to his child, there are other factors the court will have to consider. Because he’s on parole, his home will be open to random searches and seizures at any time of the day or night. It won’t be a good environment for a child. And that’s another argument I’ll make.”

A chill crept over Caitlin, and her hands shook. “What happens if Emily’s at the house and they find something like drugs, weapons, some of those delinquents he used to hang around, or other parolees he met while incarcerated?”

“Zack will be sent back to prison, and social workers will take Emily to the county receiving home.”

“Oh, God. I can’t let that happen.”

“Caitlin, I’ll do everything in my power to help you. But keep in mind that you’ll retain custody during the legal proceedings. Then, even if the court does decide to let Zack have Emily, the transfer would probably start with visitation.”

“I don’t even want her to meet him, let alone spend unsupervised time with him.” Caitlin’s stomach tossed and turned, threatening to upchuck her breakfast and the coffee she’d drank.

“Let’s not worry until we have something to worry about, all right?”

That was easy for the attorney to say.

Caitlin glanced out the door, spotting Emily as she stood on Gerald and Mary’s porch—unaware of the father who threatened her future.

Emily smiled as the morning sunshine warmed her face. She liked being outside. But even more than that, she liked being a big girl and no longer a baby.

A bird called from the big tree on the grass. And an engine roared to a start from the carport.

It was fun to be outdoors alone. To be ’sponsible enough to go get Scruffy all by herself.

She knocked again at the Blackstone’s door, this time really hard because Mary and Gerald didn’t hear very good.

A minute later Gerald answered. “Why hello, Emily.” He looked all around. “Where’s your mommy?”

“She’s talking on the phone. But she said I could come and get Scruffy all by myself and take him to my house to play. And when she’s all done talking, we can go on our walk.”

“You’re sure getting to be a big girl,” Harvey said.

Emily was glad to know he thought so, too.

Scruffy barked, as he came running, wagging his bushy tail like he was really happy to see her. That’s why Emily loved the little dog. ’Cause he always kissed her face until it was all wet.

She giggled, then plopped down to her knees and let Scruffy welcome her with wags and licks and little whines.

“How about a treat?” Mary asked her. “I just baked a fresh batch of oatmeal cookies with raisins.”

“No, thank you. My tummy is all filled up with breakfast.” Emily pooched out her stomach and rubbed it. “See?”

“Maybe after your walk.”

Emily nodded.

“Hold on a minute, Scruffy.” Mr. Blackstone stooped, as he snapped the hook onto the squirmy little dog’s collar, then handed Emily the leash. “Have a good time on your walk, sweetheart.”

“I will.” Emily gave Scruffy a big hug. “Okay, let’s go get Mommy.”

As Gerald closed his door, and Emily took Scruffy down the steps, the doggie pulled her onto the grass, so he could go potty. When he was all done, he started to run for the sidewalk, where Mommy and Emily usually walked. But Emily pulled him back. “Not yet, Scruffy. We gotta wait for Mommy.”

Scruffy was sad, but he obeyed Emily. And that made her happy. As they walked toward Emily’s house, Scruffy spotted a butterfly on the flower bush by the front door. He barked and wagged his tail.

Emily had to use both hands to hold him back. “Silly, you can’t play with butterflies. God made them for us to look at. Isn’t this one pretty?”

She studied the yellow and black wings. It was one of the prettiest she’d ever seen that wasn’t in a picture book.

When they went on walks, Mommy let Emily and Scruffy look at things like rolly-pollies, the little gray bugs that rolled into balls when they were shy or scared.

Maybe it was okay to stay in the front yard. Mommy couldn’t get mad at that. Besides, Emily wouldn’t go anywhere ’cept stay on the lawn.

The butterfly flew away, toward Greg’s house, where Brett was staying.

He was a nice man, just like Greg. And he’d said she could come over and visit Fred.

She got a good idea that made her smile. Maybe Brett and Fred wanted to take a walk with them.

Emily didn’t know if Fred had a leash, like Scruffy did, but Brett could carry him.

“Come on, Scruffy. Let’s go see our neighbors.”

Brett rolled over in bed, taking the pillow and placing it over his head, blocking out the sunlight that pierced through a bent slat in the blinds.

There weren’t too many mornings when he had the luxury of sleep. Besides, he’d stayed awake last night, long after he’d left Caitlin’s house.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of his son, he supposed. And the little moppet next door. Crayon drawings on refrigerators. Pretty moms he shouldn’t allow to get too close.

And when he’d finally hit the sheets, he’d dreamed of tropical breezes, setting suns and an attractive blonde who made a guy want to take a romantic, moonlit swim in the South Pacific.

The doorbell sounded, and he had half a notion to ignore it—until it rang over and over.

He cursed under his breath and climbed from bed. As a second thought, he slipped on a pair of sweatpants. Brett always slept in the raw, and there was no need to flash Greg’s neighbors. Or a salesman.

Damn, he wanted to clobber whoever was leaning on the bell.

He flung open the door with a little more force than necessary, ready to snap at whoever had rudely awakened him. But when he found Emily and a little brown mutt standing on the porch, he slowly shook his head. A grin tugged at his lips.

So much for wanting to clobber whoever had been his wake-up call.

Little Emily, with her eyes glimmering, the sunlight glistening in her hair, held the dog’s leash with both hands and flashed him a bubbly smile. “Hi, Brett.”

“Hello there,” he told the little cutie dressed in yellow and orange overalls. He scanned the yard, but didn’t see anyone. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s on the phone,” the child said. “We’re going for a walk. Do you want to go with us?”

From behind him, the psycho cat hissed.

Emily brightened, transferred the leash to her left hand, then lifted the fingers of her right in a wiggly little wave. “Hi, Fred! This is Scruffy. Want to play?”

The dog barked, and the cat wailed like its tail was on fire.

Before Brett could think, speak or react, the bushy, brown dog lurched forward, jerked the leash out of Emily’s hand and tore through the house, chasing Fred.

Brett nearly cheered the dog on, hoping the cranky cat got its comeuppance. But Greg loved the damn critter. And so did Emily.

As the cat leaped over the sofa, the dog tried to follow, jumping onto the cushions, then balking at the distance. It hopped over the armrest instead.

The cat continued to wail like a banshee, and the dog barked like the devil was on its tail.

“No,” Emily shrieked. “Don’t do that!”

Then she dashed inside the house, hot on the trail of the dog and cat.

No! Don’t do that!

Inside the kitchen, Caitlin heard her daughter’s frantic scream. “Oh, my God.” She dropped the telephone receiver on the floor and rushed out the front door. “Emily!”

“Over here,” Brett yelled from the doorway of Greg’s house. “The damn dog and cat are tearing the place apart.”

Inside Greg’s condo, Fred flew over chair and table, knocking over a lamp, before heading down the hall. The dog skidded on the hardwood floor, like the head of a demon-possessed dust mop.

“Stop, Scruffy!” Emily chased after the dog. “Fred is a’scared of you.”

Caitlin stood on the stoop, her pulse racing, heart pounding, knees wobbling, while she waited for her brain to slow the rush of adrenaline.

Thank God her daughter wasn’t being abducted. She blew out a sigh, as she joined the melee, hoping to catch the dog before the animals tore Greg’s house apart.

Emily ran after Scruffy, as Scruffy ran after Fred. Rather than get caught up in a comedy of errors, Caitlin paused near the sofa and watched.

Brett, who wore only a pair of sweatpants, used strategy in waylaying the flying pooch. And she couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulders flex, couldn’t help admiring his male form.

He was a good-looking man; the kind of man most unmarried women would pursue. But she wasn’t most women—she was a single mom who didn’t want to jeopardize a custody battle by having a relationship at this point in time.

Moments later, Brett managed to snatch the leash and pull the dog to a halt. But he couldn’t stop Fred from dashing out the front door in a flash of black fur.

Emily hunkered down on the floor and shook her finger at Scruffy. “That was a naughty thing for you to do. You need to say sorry to Fred.”

Brett caught Caitlin’s gaze, and something passed between them. A parenting sort of thing. Understanding that the house cat might not be safe outdoors and wanting to spare Emily any worry.

“Even if dogs could talk to cats, that would be tough,” Brett told Emily. “Fred ran off.”

Emily gasped. “He went outside all by himself?”

“I’m afraid so.” Brett raked a hand through his hair, then glanced at Caitlin. “I’d better go look for him.”

“Emily and I will help. Just let me take Scruffy back to his house.”

He glanced down at his bare feet. “I’d better get on a pair of shoes and a shirt.”

She nodded, then took Emily by the hand and walked the dog to Mary and Gerald’s, her steps as fast as Emily’s little legs could match.